


That You Exist As Well

by mammothluv



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 03:51:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9159508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mammothluv/pseuds/mammothluv
Summary: She wakes on Tuesday and he’s standing by her bedside again.Peggy's recovering from an injury. Steve visits.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentofvalue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentofvalue/gifts).



> This was written for callsigncarter for the Steggy Secret Santa Exchange. I hope you enjoy it!

I.

Steve brings her a drawing of flowers. It’s simple black and grey work with charcoal and yet somehow they have that bright look of spring about them. There are no chairs readily available in the medical unit so he stands at her bedside

“Easier to produce than the real thing this time of year,” he offers in apology as Peggy studies the drawing. 

Every move of her right arm sends a sharp pain shooting through her shoulder, a reminder of her still healing bullet wounds. She lifts the hand anyway, runs her fingers along the edge of the paper which looks like it’s been carefully torn from his sketchbook. 

She waves her left hand dismissively in response to his unnecessary apology. 

“They’re beautiful,” she assures him. It’s the truth. The flowers are rich with detail and shading. She suspects he spent a good deal of time getting them just right. 

She glances up in time to see a pleased smile flit across his face.

She wants to say more. She wants to tell him that daisies were her favorite flower as a child, wants to ask him his. She wants to say she wishes she’d known him then when they were the kind of young where the world seemed vast and simple all at once and caring about people felt easy.

But her eyelids are heavy and already he’s fading from her so instead she settles for a simple, “thank you,” before turning her head and letting unconsciousness wash over her.

 

II.

She wakes on Tuesday and he’s standing by her bedside again. His hair is mussed and his uniform is rumpled and dirty. He makes a belated effort at smoothing them both just as she’s opening her eyes. She’s about to ask him what’s happened but he speaks first. 

“You look good. Less tired than yesterday,” he says and his hand lifts ever so slightly and then falls back down to his side. It’s as if he considered reaching out to touch her but thought better of it. 

“Golly,” Peggy responds. “I hope I remember this until I can get back to my tent and record it in my journal. Dear Diary, Today my heart leapt when the one and only Captain America told me I looked ‘less tired than yesterday.’”

She expects him to backtrack but his grin only widens. 

“Do you want me to run over and grab the diary for you now? It will only take a moment.” He makes as if to turn and leave. 

“No, shut up,” Peggy commands. “What do you look so happy about anyway?” 

“This is the first time since,” he nods in the direction of her shoulder, “that you’ve given me any grief. I think it’s a good sign of your recovery.” 

“You’re going to get plenty of those signs if you continue to say idiotic things.”

“I’m hoping,” he says. And then he does reach out. It’s just a feather-light touch against her forehead -- his fingers trailing along her skin as if to brush away a stray strand of hair -- but she feels the weight of it even after he leaves. 

 

III.

Steve appears again just as she’s released from the medical unit. The walk back to her quarters is tiring. He keeps pace beside her, knows better than to ask if she wants to pause and rest.

A few soldiers stop to greet them and ask after her health. 

“Barely felt it,” she replies dryly each inquiry. Steve only flinches the first time she says it.

There aren’t many interruptions in their walk, though. The camp is quiet. Most of the men are off on a variety of expeditions she’d managed to get details on while in medical despite Colonel Phillips’ orders to the contrary. 

She knows why she’s been left out. She’ll insist on returning to full active duty tomorrow but there wasn’t much she could do about today. Steve, on the other hand, doesn’t have the excuse of a recent wound keeping him grounded. 

Peggy narrows her eyes in his direction. He catches her gaze and grins sheepishly as if he’s followed her train of thought. 

“And what are you doing here today?” she asks, not willing to let the subject slide. 

“I’m taking the day off. Weren’t you just saying the other day ‘even the great Captain America needs a break every now and then’?” 

“I’m certain I didn’t,” she says. 

“I believe the term ‘the Great Captain America’ was wielded sarcastically. The wish for me to slow down occasionally seemed genuine, however,” he says. 

“Oh, that does sound more like me,” she agrees. 

“Ever thought about taking your own advice? In regards to slowing down, I mean.” He nods at her shoulder. She knows him well enough now to read the undercurrent of genuine concern even if he tries to downplay it in deference to her preference to play the injury off as nothing more than a minor inconvenience. 

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” she responds. But there’s no bite in her remark. The truth is she’s glad to have him here and grateful for his concern, even if it is entirely unnecessary. 

When they arrive at her quarters, she motions for Steve to follow her in, not ready to let him go just yet. He does so and then stands near the entryway, hesitating and seemingly unsure of where to direct his eyes. 

She walks over to her cot and pulls her worn copy of Ruth Pitter’s _A Trophy of Arms_ out from its spot under her pillow. She tucks Steve’s drawing between pages 42 and 43, smoothing the edges of the paper carefully before shutting the book again. 

When she looks up, Steve is watching her movements with careful interest, a thoughtful frown gracing his features. She fears he’s misinterpreted her tucking his drawing into the book as disregard for his gift. 

She takes a breath and sits down at the head of her cot, the book still in hand. She pats the empty spot next to her. 

“Sit for a few minutes if you have the time,” she offers. 

He looks at the cot, then her, then back to the cot again. His hesitation is somewhere between comical and adorable but she has no intention of letting him know that.

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Captain. I’m hardly in any position to seduce you at the moment if that’s what you’re concerned about.” 

“I didn’t think you would...were… I…” he stammers. 

“Well I wouldn’t rule it out entirely for the future but you’re safe for today at any rate,” she responds.

His eyes widen momentarily but he recovers quickly. 

“In that case,” he says, his face lighting up with a broad smile. He walks to the cot and sits gingerly on approximately one centimeter of the bed.

“Scoot back,” she orders. “I’ll never be able to concentrate with you looking as if you’re about to topple off the cot at any moment.” 

Steve looks insulted but moves a centimeter further back onto the cot. It’s hardly enough to make a difference. He’s also moving at the pace of a sloth, likely in fear of jostling her injury, but Peggy supposes the attempt to appease her is something. 

She opens the book to the first well-creased page and pulls out a photograph which she hands to Steve. He takes it from her with great care, fingers just grasping the edges. 

“My brother, Michael, and I,” she explains. It’s a photo taken of them not long before Michael first left for the service. Michael’s arm is draped loosely over her shoulder and they’re both smiling at the camera, looking as though they haven’t a care in the world. 

Steve raises the hand that isn’t holding the photograph. He doesn’t touch the photograph but his fingers ghost over it as though he’s tracing the line of her face. The reverence of his movements causes her heart to stutter. 

After careful study, he hands the photo back to her and looks at her expectantly. She turns the pages again and pulls out a beautifully embroidered lace handkerchief. 

“My mother’s,” she says.

This time Steve does reach out and trail his fingers along the delicate flowers that grace the edges of the fabric. Peggy can feel his light touch against the palm of her hand through the material.

“She gave it to me on what was to be my wedding day.”

Steve pulls his hand back, clasps his fingers together and rests both hands on his lap. 

“Wedding day?” he echoes. His tone is gentle as though he’s offering her the option to elaborate or not. 

She glances up at him. 

“Seems a lifetime ago, another person almost,” she says. “I’d been offered a place at the S.O.E. but initially I turned it down. I thought I was meant to be married. My former fiance is a good man, though, in retrospect, I don’t know that I loved him as I thought I did.” She waves a hand as if to dismiss the thought, a conversation for another time, if at all. “The morning of my to-be wedding I learned of Michael’s death.”

She closes her eyes against the onslaught of memory. Gently, Steve takes her hand in his own, intertwines their fingers and rests both their hands on his knee.

“I realized then I was meant to fight, not be someone’s wife. Michael had argued that point with me before. It wasn’t until he died that I knew it to be true,” she explains. 

“I’m sorry you lost your brother. I’m sure he was a fine man and soldier,” Steve says.

“We’ve all known loss,” Peggy says.

“Doesn’t make it any easier.” 

“No,” she agrees. 

She looks down at the book in her lap and focuses on the warmth of their intertwined fingers. Steve has made no move to separate them and she has no plans to do so either. 

“Surely you could do both,” Steve says, breaking the momentary silence between them. “Continue your career with the SSR and have a marriage, should you want to.” 

“When the war is over, perhaps,” Peggy agrees. She leans into him, gently pressing her shoulder against his. Steve tightens his grip on her hand. 

“Given the right partner of course,” she adds.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is taken from a poem in the book Peggy shows Steve, _A Trophy of Arms _by Ruth Pitter.__
> 
> ___"See what a charming smile I bring,_  
>  Which no one can resist;  
> For I have found a wondrous thing –  
> The Fact that I exist. 
> 
> ___And I have found another, which_  
>  I now proceed to tell.  
> The world is so sublimely rich  
> That you exist as well." 


End file.
